Speak Comfortable Words.

All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their Hands Are.

Suit The Action To The Word, The Word To The Action.

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.

Mine Eyes Are Full Of Tears, My Heart Of Grief.

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.